


Monarch

by manic_intent



Series: Pax Americana [1]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Amnesia, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega!Whiskey, Temporary Amnesia, That AU where Jack tries to fix Harry's memory by himself, alpha!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 15:32:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12390981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: Through the looking glass, the one-eyed man was carefully painting an orange and black butterfly onto the wall. “We too cheap to give him painting paper or what?” Jack asked, hands pressed to his hips.Beside him, Ginger shrugged. She was monitoring the stranger’s vitals through a tablet, occasionally pausing to adjust her glasses. “We tried. He prefers the walls.”“So it’s quite possible this nanowhatsit treatment seriously fucked him up the way it kinda fucked me up,” Jack said, grimacing, “except that when my brain took a holiday I hit on everyone in the room, including Champ, while John Doe here seems to have fixed on butterflies.”“When your brain ‘took a holiday’ you did indeed regress into some sort of sex-addicted Neanderthal state,” Ginger said blandly, flicking through John Doe’s medical statistics, “which, I might add, says a lot about your character, even if Agent Tequila thought it was hilarious at the time.”





	Monarch

**Author's Note:**

> Hmm, not sure where this ficbunny came from, but *boots it free*. There. I'm forever writing weirder and weirder iterations of the a/b/o trope, ngl.

Through the looking glass, the one-eyed man was carefully painting an orange and black butterfly onto the wall. “We too cheap to give him painting paper or what?” Jack asked, hands pressed to his hips. 

Beside him, Ginger shrugged. She was monitoring the stranger’s vitals through a tablet, occasionally pausing to adjust her glasses. “We tried. He prefers the walls.”

“So it’s quite possible this nanowhatsit treatment seriously fucked him up the way it kinda fucked me up,” Jack said, grimacing, “except that when my brain took a holiday I hit on everyone in the room, including Champ, while John Doe here seems to have fixed on butterflies.” 

“When your brain ‘took a holiday’ you did indeed regress into some sort of sex-addicted Neanderthal state,” Ginger said blandly, flicking through John Doe’s medical statistics, “which, I might add, says a lot about your character, even if Agent Tequila thought it was hilarious at the time.”

“Y’all never letting me forget that, I know. Go on. Get your licks in. Already said I was sorry.” 

“John Doe here regressed into a young adult memory. Prior to joining the armed forces, perhaps. His x-ray is interesting. Many healed breaks, particularly to the ribs, some old, some new. He’s broken his arms and legs before. Fingers, toes. He’s extremely fit for a man of his age. His scars indicate he’s been shot before, stabbed before, burned before. And, of course, his inventory’s highly unusual.” 

“MI6, MI5? Mossad? Interpol?”

“Drew a blank on everything. Tequila even reached out to a friend in the CIA. John Doe’s prints and DNA aren’t on file anywhere.” 

“Okay, so where do I come in?” Jack asked. In the room, the stranger was putting the finishing touches on his butterfly. “Don’t see why Champ had to summon me down from New York.” 

Ginger coughed. “We only managed to break you out of your Neanderthal state when Tequila held you down and went through your wallet until we got to the photograph.”

“So we just have to…? Easy. Tequila’s still around, and this old guy shouldn’t give him that much trouble. Didn’t have to call me down here.” 

“He wasn’t carrying any identification. Nor did he react to anything we showed him. Either it’s a very good act, or we still need to find his memory trigger.”

“So we leave him in there until someone calls lost and found?” Jack asked hopefully. Ginger stared at him uncomfortably, and Jack exhaled, looking back at the stranger. “You’re gonna tell me that he’s an alpha.”

“Yeah.” 

“Bullshit. How did an alpha get to his age without having prints and DNA on file in a military or criminal database?”

“Miracles happen. Files get scrubbed. He certainly belongs to _something_. You saw the video from that church,” Ginger said. Jack exhaled, rubbing his palms over his pants. “Agent Whiskey?” 

“Just for the record, I’m not a fan of the fact that this is Champ’s idea of a Plan A.”

“You’re the only senior Statesman agent who’s also an omega,” Ginger said, if gently. “But if you’d prefer, I can call in Brandy.” 

“Nah. If he so much as growls at her, she’d probably stab him in the throat before it affects her. I’m going in.” Jack tried to sound indifferent, but Ginger’s worried stare followed him out of the obs room. Just outside the padded cell, Jack took in a few slow, even breaths. He wasn’t a stranger to honey traps. Like Brandy, he’d long learned how to use his nature to his own advantage, and he didn't usually get affected enough by alphas for his judgment to get impaired, even during a heat. But it never got easier. 

The stranger glanced up when Jack entered the room. He straightened from his painting, blinking. Like most alphas, the stranger was tall, taller than Jack, broad-shouldered, square-jawed, handsome even in loose grey PJs. _Unlike_ most alphas Jack had ever met, he smiled unevenly, as though nervous, when Jack walked closer, sniffing the air. “You’re an omega.” 

“Not really a polite thing to open with, eh?” Jack drawled. “Where are your manners, man?”

The stranger flinched. He dropped his stare, frowning, rubbing his temple. From Jack’s earpiece, Ginger said, “His heart rate spiked. But it’s coming back down.” 

“Pardon me,” the stranger said, and forced a wan smile. “I’m sure all of you have a terribly good reason for kidnapping me, confining me to this room, and bombarding me with cryptic questions, but I really would rather go home, please.”

‘Please’? No alpha had ever said that to Jack before. Maybe this would be interesting after all. Jack folded his arms, grinning. His mother had told him once that he had a coyote’s grin, lips curled, teeth bared, set to bite rather than laugh. “Know why I’m in here?” 

“Pray tell. More cryptic questions?” The stranger’s eye kept flicking to Jack’s throat. Good sign or bad? He wasn’t that good at reading alphas. There were none in Statesman, and there weren’t really that many of them out there in the first place. 

“Maybe. How about you sit down for this?” When the stranger didn’t move, Jack lifted an eyebrow. “Or I can make you.” 

Reluctantly, the stranger sat down on the bed, his back to the one-way glass, though he tensed up as Jack sat down beside him. “Jack’s my name. Decided on yours yet? We can’t keep calling you John Doe.” 

“That’s as good as any for now,” the stranger—John—said, though he looked miserable as he said it. He didn’t pull away when Jack leaned over to scent his throat, though his hands clenched tight over his knees. Nice and clean, not muddied by a counter claim. Jack felt his mouth water a little, his breathing slowing down. He pulled away, glad that the room was kept highly scent-filtered. 

“John Doe doesn’t have a mate,” Jack said, for Ginger’s benefit, though John twitched. “Funny. Unmated alpha, no records anywhere. Maybe he really is a butterfly guy.” 

“Very much doubt it,” Ginger said into his ear. “You saw the CCTV.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jack looked John slowly over. John was staring at his hands, stiff and still uncomfortable. Good. “I saw what you did in the church,” Jack said, keeping his tone mild but his feet planted flat on the ground. “Y’know, if you really wanted out of here, you probably could figure something out.” Hell, if _Jack_ had wanted out of this room, remote lock or not, he would’ve bust out in under an hour. 

John let out an incredulous laugh. “I’m truly not some sort of super spy, or murderer, or, or whatever you people think I am.”

“We know what you are,” Jack said, drawing his lips back into another coyote grin. “Problem is, you can’t remember. Your brain needs a little push. That’s where I come in.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“There are two ways we could get your memory back, butterfly man. One, there’s probably some kinda trigger out there that’d fix you. Could be a photo, a sound, a smell, who knows. Could take years. Might be we’d never find it. And no, we’re not gonna let you go as you are. Even if you don’t remember anything, you’re fucking dangerous.” 

John grimaced, staring at his hands. “So what’s the alternative?”

“Alpha brains rewire themselves when the alpha in question is having sex with an omega in heat,” Jack said bluntly. “Y’all call it a heat bond, but that’s pretty much what it is. Could be something’ll shake loose.”

“I…” John blanched, and his voice rose a pitch. “That’s really? Flattering? But I don’t believe it’s necessary?” 

“Don’t panic, man,” Jack said, chuckling, more amused than insulted. “You prefer women? We’ve got another omega agent, but whether she’s gonna agree to this is up to her—”

“I didn’t say that! I mean, I wasn’t going to… Good Lord, I don’t even know you.” John was turning red to the ears as he continued to sputter. 

Jack waited for John to calm down. “Up to you. No skin off my nose either way. Could even be fun. Tell you what,” he added, as John started to stammer something, “my heat’s in four, five days tops. So give us a yes or a no in three days.”

“Wait,” John said, as Jack got up. “If I uh. Go through with this. You people will let me go?”

“Depends,” Jack told him cheerfully. “If you turn out to be from an allied agency, and you can prove it, sure, we’ll let you go. But if you’re not from an allied agency, or you’re some kinda assassin for hire, eh. We’ll turn you over to the FBI and you can lawyer up from there.” 

“And. You’re sure this will work.”

“Nope.” When John stiffened, Jack said, “Fact is, we’re the only two people who’ve undergone this procedure before and survived. So it’s all conjecture. Don’t you fucking love science?”

“Funny,” Ginger said in his ear. 

“I’ll think about it,” John said, openly reluctant.

“All right. Also, I know we're both clean, but Ginger will show you my medical file if you want. Or do you need me to talk to the other agent?”

“Uhm. No. That won’t be necessary, no.” John blushed a little. Good sign, maybe. Or bad. Didn’t matter yet.

Jack let himself out, and rejoined Ginger in the obs room. She glanced between him and John, who was pacing the room, hands shoved into the pockets of his robe. “You were rather more up front with him than I thought you’d be.” 

“What,” Jack drawled, “you thought I was gonna go in there and climb right into his lap?” Betas. “I read the room. Guy was spooked enough as it was. We need him to trust me.”

“No, that’s not what I thought,” Ginger said, a little reproachfully, “and for the record, I didn’t like it when Champ put this plan forward either.” 

“If it works, that’s good enough for me. He’ll come around.” Jack nodded at John. “Now I’m off. Tequila and I have a date with a new burgoo place that his cousin just got up and running. You can come with.”

“I’m vegetarian,” Ginger told him dryly. “Remember?”

“Still? Damn. My condolences. Guess you can order chips?”

“You’re all heart, Whiskey,” Ginger said, making a note on her tablet as she shook her head.

#

To no one’s surprise, John agreed to the proposition two days in. Jack didn’t bother visiting. Work to do, junior agents to manage. He was still answering emails in his room in Statesman HQ when John was shown in on the fourth day. “Have a seat,” Jack said, without looking up from his laptop, curled in an armchair. “Or a drink, or whatever. I’m finishing up.”

John walked straight over to the small bar. Still spooked, then, though he looked fractionally less shaky after some scotch. He poured himself another glass, and sat down on the couch next to the armchair, albeit on the other end. “So. You guys are CIA? NSA?”

“This look like CIA or NSA to you?”

John drank, then he looked around. Being a senior agent, Jack had nice digs in HQ. Large living space, private office, decent view. As nice as a hotel suite and built like a safehouse. “I don’t know,” he said finally. 

“Tequila gave you the grand tour before dragging you up here, did he?”

“No. Didn’t see anything but corridors and a lift.” Movement in the park below made John tense. It was only the resident family of white-tailed deer, the does keeping close to the buck. John frowned to himself as he watched them graze, rubbing his temple, as though trying to soothe a sudden ache. Jack studied him warily for a while, but when John was silent, he went back to answering emails. 

Half an hour in and the room was starting to feel warm. Jack looked over at John, who was still staring at the deer. “There’s still time to back out,” Jack said, and John startled violently. 

“No. I…” John exhaled. “Frankly, I don’t like this at all. But I was thinking. If you’re right, and it might take years for me to recover my memory… Maybe I _am_ dangerous. But I can’t, I can’t handle years locked in that padded room, only talking to someone once a day. I was going to mark the days on the walls, but I can’t even tell day from night, or the length of time, but I had to write _something_.”

“Butterflies?”

John was rubbing his hands jerkily together. “I used to study them. I’m sure of that. It’s the only thing I was sure of. But you, and that lady, Ginger, and the others. You’re telling me that what I believe to be real isn’t. So what _is_ real? How would I even know? Maybe this won’t help,” John said, when Jack pursed his lips. “I’d be wasting your time, making you do something you don’t want.” 

“Wait up there.” Jack set his laptop aside. “What don’t I want, exactly?” 

John stared at him. “Surely you don’t actually want to spend your heat with an old man who can’t even remember his own name.”

“I don’t see what your name has to do with it,” Jack said, uncurling to his feet, amused all over again, “if your equipment works.” 

John was still sputtering about that when Jack climbed onto his lap, removing his hat and dropping it playfully on John’s head. John froze as Jack leaned in, but he let out a slow breath instead of flinching away when Jack paused, so Jack closed in the rest of the way. The first kiss was awkward, the second, nervous. Either John was still disoriented or he didn’t remember how to kiss. Or he wasn’t actually into male omegas after all. Jack started to pull away, only for John to let out a strangled noise and kiss him back clumsily. Hands twitched over Jack’s hips, and Jack obligingly shifted close, grinning into the next kiss as he felt John thicken against him.

“So,” Jack said conversationally, when John was pliant and less nervy. “Here’s how I like to do this. We pick a safe word. Something you wouldn’t normally say. Any time either of us want out, say it and we’d get separated.” 

John thought this over for a moment. “Monarch.” 

“Got that,” Ginger said into Jack’s earpiece. “Going to set monitoring to auto pickup. Like you wanted.” She sounded faintly disapproving, but Jack didn’t care. 

“Right. Next, I usually like to go one round before the main event. If we both have fun, we stay in bed. If we don’t, feel free to tap out. You won’t hurt my feelings.” 

As Jack thought, setting down some guidelines visibly relaxed John. John might not remember anything, but he _was_ military, or had been, at some point. Probably MI6, if Jack had to put money on a guess. John’s accent sounded native. Not to mention MI6 was notoriously cagey about its field agents, who tended to slant alpha and ex-military. “I don’t remember how old I am,” John said, “but I really don’t know if, ah, recovery’s going to be quite that easy.”

It was funny what the human brain liked to remember. Or maybe John had really never fucked an omega in heat before. “It’s not going to be a problem for you, trust me. Oh yeah, and you’re gonna have to wear a mouth guard, if we do move on to the main event. Just in case.”

“Need me restrained too?” John asked. No defensiveness, only genuine concern—on Jack’s behalf. Not bad. 

“Darlin’,” Jack said, grinning, “you might be in my line of work, and an alpha at that, but don’t get me wrong. The most dangerous person in this room is _me_.”

#

Whoever John had been, he had inhuman self-control. Jack knew he was close enough near heat that pheromones had to be thick in the air, not yet enough to trigger John’s rut but definitely enough to make most alphas sexually aggressive. John didn’t bite, didn’t even growl. If they weren’t naked, with John’s erection obvious for the world to see, Jack would’ve called things off. Stripped down on the bed, John made another small and wounded sound as Jack licked into his mouth.

John liked to kiss. Didn’t like Jack touching his scars. Didn’t really like Jack getting a hand on his cock either, not at first, until it was damned obvious from the musk in the air that Jack was getting wet. After that, John pushed into Jack’s grip, panting against his ear, but he left his hands on Jack’s hips and didn’t otherwise move. 

Which, all right, was a little bit of a blow to the ego. Jack bit John hard on the shoulder and felt him flinch. “Lying back and thinking of England?” he asked dryly. 

John let out a hoarse laugh. “This is terribly awkward.”

“You can safeword out if you want,” Jack reminded him. John tucked his mouth against Jack’s throat, breathing slowly, shaky for a moment before he calmed down. 

“It’s not that.” 

“I’m not your type?”

John’s flush deepened. “Er. You definitely are.” He rocked his hips up into Jack’s hand pointedly. 

“So what’s the problem?” 

John eyed Jack with some surprise, as though he thought Jack would’ve guessed. “I’m really not exactly sure what I’m supposed to be doing,” John confessed, as Jack tilted his head inquiringly. "It's not as though I can remember being with anyone before. Like this."

Oh. Jack ducked his head, starting to laugh, and John tensed for a moment before the sound relaxed him, and he even smiled, if wanly, when Jack nudged a kiss against his mouth. “Okay. Should have guessed. Tell you what. First go doesn’t need to be complicated. You want to touch? Touch. If I don’t like it, you’ll know.” 

Hands stroked up his flanks, then slid back down to his waist as Jack stretched himself out, glad that slipping into heat meant he was wetter than usual. Or maybe it was the alpha scent, or the way John watched him, wide-eyed, the way he twitched and groaned but didn’t move when Jack eased onto him. And yeah. Alphas were _big_. Jack had to rock down to wedge John deeper, and when he finally ground all the way down, John growled, a torn-off hungry alpha sound that he swallowed hastily with a blink. 

Jack grinned lazily. Being so full always felt incredible, being grounded with nowhere to go. “No need to hold it in, man, I can take it.”

“I don’t—” John gasped, gritting his teeth, hands tight on the sheets. “Sign of, ngh, sign of ill manners.” He frowned, shaking his head, eye going briefly unfocused. 

“Hey,” Jack said, amused, rocking pointedly against John, stretch and friction and all, “I’d say we’re kinda past formalities, yeah? You must be real fun at parties.” 

John let out a shaky laugh. He set his hands back on Jack’s hips, and thrust against Jack’s rhythm, tentative at first, then clumsily. Not bad, Jack decided, though if he hadn’t been easing into heat, this would’ve been boring. Now his instincts were a tangled mesh of trained reflexes and animal pleasures, and Jack knew what was going to win out, sooner or later. He bared his teeth and dug his nails into John’s arms, easing up on his knees, then dropping heavily back down. Pleasure spiked in a sweet rush. Jack breathed deeply as he moved, fucking himself lazily on the thick cock inside him, the room now a cocktail of sweat-scents and pheromones. 

Beneath him, John purred, his single eye glazing, shoving up roughly against Jack, blinking when Jack gasped. Then that unnatural self-control was back—John sucked in a slow, hoarse breath, and stilled, reached for Jack’s cock. His fingers were dry and too rough but this close to Jack’s heat it was good anyway, better, pain and lust and a little violence. Jack snarled. His hands clenched hard enough against John’s arms that John whined, and bucked, then he was holding Jack down, hips nudging up helplessly in tiny thrusts as his knot started to take. Jack bowed his head, dazed, release like a dull roar in his ears that twisted the pain of John’s swelling knot into a distant sort of pleasure. Relaxed him. Made him forget to breathe. 

Lightheaded, Jack sucked in a slow, sweet breath that shook on his tongue. The hand around Jack’s cock dropped away, wiping the mess on the bed. Then Jack glanced up. A stranger looked back. Wary, quiet, single eye slightly narrowed. Huh. Jack tasted the pheromones in the air. The change was subtle, but telling. 

“Heat bond kicked in early?” Jack guessed. 

“I’m afraid so. The consequence of years of rut suppressants, I do believe. The time I spent in your organisation’s custody must have flushed that out of my system before your heat.” 

“Rut suppressants?” Jack tilted his head. “Never heard of that.”

“In our line of work, it’s useful to pass as a beta.” 

“So,” Jack said, pointedly squirming a fraction on the knot embedded inside him, “you got a name for me now?” 

“Harry.” Again that inhuman self-control—Harry didn’t even flinch. Hot. 

“MI6?”

“Can this discussion wait until we’re less occupied?” 

“Why? You have anywhere else to be right now?” Jack shot back, with a cheeky smirk, and Harry sighed, but stayed pointedly silent, even when his knot went down and Jack eased wetly free. 

Harry twisted sharply, trying to wrestle Jack onto the bed and pin his arm, but Jack had guessed as much, heat bond or not. He kicked Harry hard in the stomach and wriggled out of his grip. Harry gasped, but recovered far too quickly, pouncing. Jack swatted away a palm that knifed for his throat and they ended up on the floor, Jack snarling again, Harry silent. For an old man, he _was_ good. Ruthless. Jack suspected it would’ve been a better fight if Harry wasn’t so disoriented, if he wasn’t fighting a bond. Instincts could be a bitch. For a moment it was better than sex, violence in every breath, slick bodies wrenched against each other. Jack scratched bloody troughs down Harry's back, his arm, and Harry bruised fingertips against Jack's wrist and thighs, scrabbling for purchase. Eventually, Jack got Harry in an arm lock, choking him until Harry stopped clawing and twisting. Weakening.

Harry coughed when Jack let go, and stilled when Jack pointedly nipped the back of his throat. “Give up, old man,” Jack said, chuckling breathlessly, and scraped his teeth against Harry’s shoulders. “You’re no match for me and you know it.” 

“The most dangerous person in the room,” Harry said. He sounded rueful. A little amused. Good sign, Jack decided. 

“Told you. Safeword still applies, by the way. Though this time we’d probably drop you into a proper cell.” 

“I appreciate the honesty,” Harry said, and when Jack merely smirked, he asked, “Mouth guard?” 

“Side drawer.” 

Back on the bed, mouth guard in place, Jack licked against plastic, bracketed between Harry’s frame and the bed, until Harry growled and shook his head and nuzzled Jack’s neck, just over his pulse. “You magnificent creature,” he whispered, and Jack laughed, curling his fingertips lightly into the meat of Harry’s throat.

“Darlin’, we’ve only just gotten started.”

#

“Probably should chain his feet and hands to the floor,” Tequila said, looking through the one-way glass. Harry was sitting straight-backed on the bed, staring at the unfinished painting of the orange and black butterfly. The loose grey clothes looked strange on him now.

“I kicked his ass while I was in the middle of going into heat. I can handle it.” 

“Not sayin’ you can’t, just that he might feel more helpful.”

Jack rather doubted it. Harry had too much iron control for that: he hadn’t even shown any outward sign of discomfort at being separated from Jack, despite the bond. Nor did he look over when Jack let himself into the room, though he tensed, almost imperceptibly, when Jack sat beside him on the bed and nuzzled his throat. With the heat bond ebbing but still in place, their breaths synced gradually, and Harry relaxed, instinctively soothed by Jack’s presence. Good.

“Monarch butterfly,” Harry said, pensive. “I saw a swarm once, clustered all over a tree. They migrate from Southern Canada and the United States to central Mexico, then back. No individual butterfly completes the round trip. The eggs are laid for the next generation during the northward migration.” 

Jack imagined a tree covered with bugs, and grimaced. “Right.”

“The North American ones are only butterflies that make such a massive journey. It’s a feat of nature on a grand scale.”

“But not all of them do it.” Jack had done his homework. Ginger had painstakingly researched every goddamned butterfly Harry had painted on the walls, in case they were code for something. “Nice colour on the wings, though.”

Harry nodded. “Some people think that butterflies can’t see their own wings. But they most certainly can, with their compound eyes. Whether they can appreciate what they are is another matter. They’re beautiful, and their short lives are uncomplicated, yet together, as a swarm, they humble us with the immensity of their tenacity. Still, for all that this butterfly is named for kings and queens, it is the ruler of nothing.” 

“It’s a bug. Doubt it cares.” 

Harry was quiet for a while, solemn. “Miss Ginger updated me on the Valentine situation,” he said, clearly choosing his words with care. “I’m glad that matters are resolved.”

Jack snorted. “Resolved? The fuck you say. Half the governments in the world lost heads of state. Even here. And the racists have all come right out of the woodwork, loud and proud. They’re probably going to roll all the way into the White House. Resolved, hah.”

“Ginger also explained what you people are. I’ve never heard of Statesman before. Regardless, Statesman isn’t the only organisation of its kind in the world.”

“You’re saying there’s a British Statesman gig, also hush,” Jack summarised. “Huh. That explains it.”

“What does?”

“Why we don’t ever get many European gigs. And none from the poms.” Jack waited, but when Harry stayed silent, he said, dryly, “You’re thinking of making a play for my gun. ‘Course, if you do, I’m no longer obliged to play nice, so I’ll break your arm. In the small chance that you do manage to get the better of me, we’ll gas the room and knock you out. If you somehow break out of the room before you lose consciousness, I’ve got a junior agent close by who’s looking forward to kicking your ass.” 

Harry smiled, wry and sharp. “I’m fully aware of my options and of my limitations.” 

“So just fess up. Tell us who you work for, we’ll get in touch with them, and if they check out, we’ll hand you over.” Jack watched Harry’s smile fade. “Or, y’know, we could probably find out ourselves. Make our own inquiries in London. Now that we know what we’re looking for.” 

“No doubt.” Harry was quiet for a while, and Jack allowed him his silence, listening to their breathing, syncing. Finally, he said, “Do what you will.”

“Stubborn to the end, hm.” Jack could appreciate that. He brushed his lips over Harry’s ear, whispering, too low for the earpiece. “I had fun, alpha. If you do get out of here, find me in New York.” Harry twitched back, and when Jack merely smirked, he leaned over, kissing Jack hard on the mouth. Then Harry pulled away, inscrutable and imperious, and he watched Jack go, still the king of nothing but pride. It was a promise, after a fashion.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: manic_intent  
> tumblr: manic-intent.tumblr.com  
> \--  
> Refs:  
> https://www.epicurious.com/archive/holidays/kentucky/burgoo  
> http://www.nationalgeographic.com/animals/invertebrates/m/monarch-butterfly/


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